So there we were, last place starters on the Samsung Innov8 Race, armed only with a good insurance policy, empty bladders and Amazing Race Asia’s Rovilson (or his prison nickname “Rovi”) Fernandez’s crumbling ego.  Our four man team, composed of a Samsung representative, a cell phone dealer, a good-looking member of the press and a scalp-deficient celebrity, were off on an eight part race where each consecutive task grew exponentially difficult: take pictures using our Samsung cell phone, perform a series of tai-chi movements, scurry up a fifty-foot high wall, drive three laps down a championship race course, explain the concept of double insertions to the Senate minority, overthrow the administration, bring about world peace, and watch an eighteen hour DVD of The Best of Kris Aquino’s game show hostings.   

There were three things that would propel us to victory in this contest: an intimate knowledge of Metro Manila’s eskinitas, a mutant ability to interface with the Samsung Innovate i8510 cell phone and the bile-forming fear that we would lose to our evil counterparts, those two whose names should be uttered only if you want to induce loose bowel movement: STAR columnist JR “good things come in small packages” Isaac and the Jon “my package is bigger than your package” Hall.  

For our team, this was a chance to each score a free i8510.  But it was much more for the geographically-illiterate Rovi: this was his chance for redemption from his lackluster Amazing Race Asia finish behind a well-groomed of Singaporean gymrats and a team of perky Malaysian mestizas (Rovi’s strategy: If you can’t beat them, make one of them your girlfriend). He was determined that we would be the first team zipping away from the starting line until my mutant ability to urinate every thirty minutes forced our team to make a last minute detour to the restroom. 

“You guys are a bunch of wimps!” Rovi wailed as we squeezed into the pick up.  “This never happened to Marc and I when were on The Amazing Race Asia! We did what we real men do and wore adult diapers!” Rovi folded his arms and started talking to himself. “Do you think you could do that Jon Hall! Do you!  All you can do is use your pectorals to crush chestnuts!”

“Uhm, Rovi, do you any last minute advice for us before we zoom off?” I asked.  “Should have a game plan? Should we pack extra underwear?  Should we have last rites?  Should we replace you with Marc Nelson?” 

“The most important thing in this race is,” Rovi cleared his throat, “To think of witty banter with your partner so you get more face time when they edit the show for tv. Or just cuss a lot.  Remember – controversy equals ratings!  Now let’s go speed racer!”

GO, GO SPEED RACER

For our three female readers who want to risk trauma, dignity and scalp exposure in a reality tv-inspired show race, here are a couple of our uninsured tips:

1.      It is best to have a driver who is a theoretical physicist.  Our driver believed that counterflow, tailgaiting and, most importantly, a red light – were all theoretical concepts.  Once we figured out that our first task was to find the quickest route from The Peninsula Hotel in Makati to Rajah Sulayman in Manila, we plowed through several orange cones, cement barriers and MMDA representatives.  We drove so fast that I think we left my testicles behind along the stretch of Roxas Boulevard.  However, speed alone is not enough when you might potentially lose to your imperfect duplicates JR and Jon.  Careening down Metro Manila streets on warp drive means that you will possibly break the law.  And to be able to break the law effectively, you need to enlist the assistance of law enforcement.  Note the proper way of how to go about it.  

“Bulag ba kayo (Are you blind)!?”   barked the portly MMDA traffic enforcer who had more chins than Chinatown, “Can’t you see this is a one-way street!?”  

“Sir, sir, ok lang yan (Sir, sir, it’s all ok).” I smirked.  We’re celebrities competing in a reality tv show inspired race. May k kami (We’ve got the power).”

“At may k akong ilubog kayong lahat sa pink urinal (And I have the power to dunk all of you in the pink urinals).” The MMDA representative grunted, “Saan yung lisensya ng driver ninyo (Where’s the license of your driver)?” he motioned with his fingers. 

“’Di mo ba ako naaalala (Don’t you remember who I am)!?” I was aghast.   “Ako yung sa Royal Tru-Orange noon? (I was the one from Royal Tru-Orange before)” the enforcer scratched his head (of course I am sure he merely feigned ignorance).

“Ikaw ba yung softdrink machine na nagiging robot (Are you the softdrink machine that turns into a robot)?” he sneered.

“Ako si Joey (I’m Joey)!” I growled while whipping out my wallet sized reproductions of all my fifteen commercials, three posters, and newspaper articles to refresh his memory.   

The MMDA enforcer was about to put his batuta to good use when Rovi interrupted.  “Officer, don’t you know who I am?” he mugged a smile.  “I’m the reason why the Philippines lost in the Amazing Race Season Two?”

The enforcer’s face lit up like a congressman who just got his pork barrel. “Woooowww, seerrr!!” he shrieked and clapped his hands.  “Mas-kyut ka pala sa personal.  Pahengeng awtograp (You’re cuter in person. Can I have your autograph)!”

Two minutes later, we were racing down Roxas Boulevard with a bevy of MMDA escort vehicles helping us wang-wang our way through traffic.  Despite being sardine-tight inside our pick up, our sumo-sized traffic enforcer insisted that he sit beside Rovi for the duration of our trip. “Bosing, baka pwede mo akong batiin sa teevee?” (Boss, can you greet me on tv?)” he giggled while gently sliding his arm around Rovi’s waist.  “At pa-keeees naman jan (And can I have a kiss).”  Rovi clenched his teeth. “This never happened to Marc and I when we were on the Amazing Race Asia.” he sighed.

Because of Rovi’s tongue-in-cheek sacrifice, we were the first ones to arrive at Rajah Sulayman. We bounced out of the vehicle to start our first challenge while we left Rovi inside the pick up to gargle with lighter fluid. And by the time Rovi had emptied the contents of the car deodorant into his mouth, we had completed our first picture-taking challenge on the i8510. 

“Take that Singapore!” Rovi raised his fist in his defiance while we received our next clue. When we zipped away from Rajah Sulayman, we spied the arrival of our imagined arch-rivals JR and John at the stop.  “And take that Jon Hall.” Rovi muttered under his breath.  “Your underwear contract is mine, b&*^%.”

2.      Hey Peydro, hows my Tagalog?  Although the featured mugshots of Sam Milby, Will Devaugh and Mo Twister appear on the Most Wanted posters for the atrocities they have committed against the national language, my name and Rovi’s name have managed to sneak into the poster as repeat offenders.  We have been guilty of mangling the vernacular beyond recognition, so much so that anybody within hearing range of us when we speak Tagalog have their heads spontaneously explode.  Among the many crimes perpetrated against the language include invented Tagalization, sentence and grammatical de-construction, misplaced inflection and enunciation, and, the most horrible of them all, vowel pronunciation.  Witness a crime in progress:

Still giddy from breezing through our first challenge and with only a hint of the MMDA enforcer’s smell on his breath, Rovi and I struggled to decipher the directions of our next stop. 

“Where the hell is this Taylo street!” Rovi screeched. “You guys are such race amateurs!  This never happened to Marc and I when we were on The Amazing Race Asia.” He folded his arms, closed his eyes and lifted his nose. 

I elbowed Rovi on the nose.  “The cell phone’s global positioning system (GPS) says that there are three possible locations for Taylo in Makati.” I continued to fiddle with the cell phone.  “There are two Taylo streets and one Taylor street.  Maybe the GPS does not understand the concept of an eskinita?”

“We’ve asked several tricycle drivers and they have no clue where that street is!?” Rovi ranted “All they did was ask for my autograph and a beso-beso on the cheek!”  he said while suppressing a grin.

“Rovi, maybe the organizers made a mistake we’re supposed to look for a Taylor street?”

After fifteen minutes of driving around aimlessly and giving away free autographs to tricycle drivers, we were forced to make a pitstop at a neighborhood police station.  Rovi and I were initially reluctant to enter the station because the only times we have ever been inside one was when we were asked to join a police line up.

“Officer, alam nyo ba kung saan ang Taylo (Officer, do you know where Taylo street is)?”

“Ano (What)?” he was visibly annoyed that we had interrupted him from completing his Sudoku puzzle.

“Tay-low.” I enunciated.   

The officer furrowed his brows, “Jay-Low?”  

Dear Lord in heaven, help me because I want to decapitate a police officer. “Hindi po. Tay-low (No, sir.  It’s Tay-low).”

“Niloloko mo ba ako (Are you making fun of me)?” The cop’s nose flared. “Baka naman yung hinanahap mo ay Tay-lo (Maybe you are looking for Tay-lo)?”

“Tay-lo?”

“Tay-lo yan, hindi yan Tay-Low. Para ka namang ‘kano kung magsalita (It’s Tay-lo, not Tay-low.  You’re pronouncing it like an American)!” The officer rolled his eyes “Yung tamang pagbigkas ng ‘a’ sa ‘Tay’ ay hindi parang play.  Ang tamang pagbigkas ng ‘a’ sa ‘Tay’ ay parang patay.” (The right way to pronounce the ‘a’ in ‘Tay’ is not like how you pronounce it in play.  The right way to pronounce the ‘a’ in’Tay’ is like how you pronounce patay)

Patay kang bata ka.  (Uhm, you’re a dead child)

“Ipaplantsa mo nga yung dila mo (Get your tongue ironed out)!” the cop pursed his lips and used it to point left, “Doon lang yung Taylo (Taylo’s just over there).”

I bit my tongue in disdain while Rovi punched his fist against the wall.  “Damn you Jon Hall!  Damn you!”  After that impromptu grammar session, we tried to dash out of the police station.  But the officer grabbed ahold of Rovi’s disproportionately large right forearm.  “Huy, kalbo (Hey bald man)!” he sniggered, “Pa-keeees naman jan (I think you know what this means already)!” Rovi dropped his head.  “This never happened to Marc and I when we were in the Amazing Race Asia.”

And just like most US investment banks, everything went downhill for our team from there.

Our loose vowel movement had done its damage.  When we finally arrived at the second stop, our egos evaporated when we discovered that our team had dropped to fourth place.  And despite how many times Rovi had to give mouth to mouth to law enforcers, despite the number of times we had to explain that there was nothing anomalous about double insertions, and despite watching eighteen hours worth of Kris Aquino, we never regained our first place standing.  By the time we had clawed our way to the last leg of the race, there was a mad scramble between three teams for second place finish.  Which, incidentally, leads me to the last tip on how to lose with dignity on a reality tv show inspired race:

3.      When in doubt, protest.  It happens in beauty contests, it happens in national elections, and it happens in jack en poy:  We Pinoys never really lose.  We just get cheated out of our victory. And we re-lived this proud tradition when the other teams wanted to urinate on, what appeared to be, our second-place finish.  Some of them complained to the organizers that we had not yet completed one task before moving on to the next one, some of them complained that I had left my testicles along the stretch of Roxas Boulevard, and some even had the gall to complain that Rovi and I should be arrested for acts of lasciviousness during the course of the race. How dare they accuse us of acting!  If they have any complaints, I say tell those teams to elevate their complaints to the Comelec. I’m sure the Comelec will render a fair and impartial decision by the time that we have grandchildren. 

In the end, the anti-Christs JR Isaac and Jon Hall clinched first place in the race.  Congratulations JR and Jon!  You deserve the first prize as much as GMA deserves the presidency.  Meanwhile, our team ended up in third place.  “Oh well.  At least I’m consistent.”  Rovi sighed “But your underwear contract will be mine one day, Jon Hall.”  

But even with our third place finish, the lower ranked teams persisted with their complaints.  One of the teams even accused us of doping.  “Look,” I fumed. “We weren’t doping!  I know that Rovi has a disproportionately large right forearm.” Then I whispered loudly, “But is it his fault that he was single for such a long time!?”

Hay naku, don’t those lower ranking teams realize that they didn’t lose to doping?  They just lost to a couple of dopes. 

I dread the idea of participating in Amazing Race-inspired type competitions for several reasons. And it’s not just because I lack the chiseled physique, the matinee idol features and the carpet of chest hair. First of all, I am so lousy at competitive games that I even lose at solitaire.  Second, I have already humiliated myself, my wife, my family, my barangay, my three female readers and the general Pinoy male population by admitting that my yaya continued to bathe me even after I had sprouted underarm hair.  I do not require further humiliation.  And, lastly, I have read that sudden bursts of adrenaline can accelerate my impending hair loss.   

However, I found myself willing to sacrifice a few thousand strands for the Samsung’s day-long Innovate Race. This is because any man with enough testosterone coursing through his blood would gladly eschew his dignity to win a brand new Samsung Innov8 (i8510).  The is the type of celphone that causes men to salivate without resorting to pornography: It I has an eight-megapixel camera phone, surround-sound cinematic video experience, pre-embedded 3D games, high-speed data connections and some long-range nuclear missiles. If it had any more features, we could use the i8510 to take over a small Pacific island.  

In the days leading up the race, I embarked on an intensive training regimen: I built up my stamina by watching all-night marathon episodes of The Amazing Race Asia (TARA), I honed my mental agility by coming up with witty remarks, clever sound bites and phrases chock-full of sexual innuendos, and to finally rid myself of pride, I bathed twice a day with my yaya.

Armed with an encyclopedic knowledge of every TARA contestant’s vital statistics, interesting euphemisms for male genitalia and well-scrubbed pink parts, I confidently strode towards the registration table on race day, where I found out that each team would be randomly composed of a Samsung representative, a cell phone dealer, a member of the press, and a six pack ab-sporting celebrity.  As the mechanics of the game were being explained, I clasped my hands and prayed that God would group me with a pandesal-packed celebrity who had the agility, the determination and the experience to win this race.  And also a celebrity who would not upstage me during the picture-taking sessions.  God heard my prayer and he blessed my team with a veteran of a reality tv show race.  This veteran was a man with no fear.  A man with no scalp hair.  And a man with no sense of geography.  My team got TV Host and roast chicken lover Rovilson Fernandez. (“Why do you mock me, God?  Why!?”)

For those who do not know Maxim Magazine Executive Editor and hair loss advocate Rovilson Fernandez or “Rovi” (as he is known by his close friends and the regular clientele of Adonis KTV), Rovi was partnered up with a man who is just too good looking to be left alive – Mr. Marc “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful and I have a thousand product endorsements” Nelson on last season’s AXN The Amazing Race Asia.  Rovi and Marc were at the cusp of becoming the first Pinoy team to clinch the show’s grand cash prize, if only Rovi had paid more attention during his Social Studies class.  But before Rovi and that damnable Marc Nelson were heterosexual life partners on TARA, Rovi and I were heterosexually dating for one season of Studio 23’s critically-acclaimed late night show The Men’s Room (my mom was very critical of it).  While exposing ourselves gratuitously on public television, I discovered that Rovi and I have shared a lot of common interests – a passion for the publishing industry, our undying love for women named Vanessa, and a tendency to recycle our underwear. Unfortunately, Rovi had to leave the Men’s Room once tsismis columnists had the temerity to accuse us of being romantically linked. Rovi would’ve wanted to stay on the show, but those rumors had scared away his best customers at Adonis KTV. 

Once Rovi and I re-connected by making beso beso in the most masculine way possible, we began sizing up the celebrity and media participants.  That’s when we realized that it would take more than our rugged good looks to win this competition.  We were up against two seasons’ worth of Amazing Race Asia veterans who were divvied up amongst the competing teams. We slightly went our pants when we spied ABS-CBN Publishing’s Ernie Lopez (Season 1) and model Geoff Rodriguez (TARA Season 3).  But the contenders who made us feel like we were not yet circumcised were MetroActive editor-in-chief Jeena Lopez (Season 1), beauty queen Tisha Silang (current Season 3) and sportscaster Shaan Bermudez.  Damn.  Have you seen how physically intimidating these women are!?  Each one of them probably had more cojones than Rovilson and I combined.     

But emasculation aside, Rovi and I knew that our real competition in this race would be the powerhouse team of fellow STAR lifestyle columnist JR “the power broker” Isaac and former underwear endorser Jon “the power package” Hall. In our hearts and in our groins, karma saw it fit that our teams be up against each other in a challenge that required grit, skill and man-cleavage – those two were our opposite numbers, our evil doubles from a parallel universe, and our bizarro twins.  This was going to be a match of jock versus jock. And of pretty boy versus pretty boy.  And I am so damn sick of having to play the jock. Again.

“Stop powdering your face!” I smacked Rovi at the back of his head. “And leave behind your kikay kit. We need to travel light.”

While applying some last minute sunscreen to his scalp, I overheard Rovilson chanting in mantra-like fashion, “I cannot lose to Jon Hall, I cannot lose to Jon Hall.”  I could guess how Rovi was feeling at that moment – that no other musclebound, almost hairless, alpha-male, loverboy sex magnet deserved to win this race except for him.  I felt exactly the same way as Rovi did, except for being an almost hairless loverboy.  We knew we had to win versus our ersatz doppelgangers because our egos were on the line.  We knew we had to win because a nuclear-powered cell phone was at stake.  And we knew we had to win because we might become Samsung’s possible product endorsers.

As the other teams made a mad dash for the starting line, our four-man team started this race the best way we knew how: We strutted off to the banyo for a bladder break. What can I say? The race organizers served a lot of iced tea during breakfast. And I believe it is better to relieve our bladders voluntarily before the race than involuntarily during the race. Besides, if these teams had watched as much Amazing Race episodes as I did, they would know that there is no need to rush: The organizers would make sure that we would all be let out of the starting line at the same time. So after furiously scrubbing away our facial oil with blotting paper, we confidently strode towards the starting line expecting a volley of photographs to snap our way. But instead, we were met by a really pissed-off games master.

 “Where did you guys go!?” the games master screamed, “You’re the last team out of the starting line!  They all have a head start on you!”

Oh no. Had we pissed away Rovi’s chance to redeem himself?

“Marc, why did you abandon me?” Rovi dropped his folically-bereft head onto his palms, “I promised you I would read up on my geography.”

This race was off to a great start. 

Next column: Part 2 of Amazing Grazed and Rovi’s road towards reality tv show redemption.